Health Department, the fortified hills which on
nearer approach became
skyscrapers, the pleasure resorts crowded with quaintly decorated
build
ings, the picturesque and singular animation of the Hudson River,
then
Pier 57 of the French Line, waving handkerchiefs, the mad confusion
of the Customs shed and finally the city, the city massive and
geometrical and nevertheless monstrous, the city that is gigantic
and yet human.
At the end of a few days I wrote to a friend: `Come. Nothing gives
one more of a zest for life than a morning on Fifth Avenue. Come.
The atmosphere is young, the pedestrians hurry along. The crowds,.
enslaved by the red and green lights, surge forward in waves like
the sea. The churches have the appearance of children which other
buildings lead by the hand. Come. The locomotives have little bells
around their necks like the cows in Switzerland, and the negro
porters wear tortoise-shell glasses like young French women. Come.
The valley through which the train is running is called the Naugatuck.
It winds among the cliffs like the valley of St. Moritz. From each
of the wooden stations one expects to see Charlot emerge dressed
as a clergyman. Close to the tracks hundreds of cars are parked
in a semicircle. Come. America is a vast desert interspersed with
oases of Fords. Come, ready to believe in life and perhaps even
in humanity. Come and try, for a few months, being younger by several
centuries.'
Just what was it that I had loved so muche Everything - beautiful
valleys, stately rivers, the sharp and bracing air of the American
autumn, the blazing colours of the trees, the grace of New England
villages. And then the youth and confidence. America in 1927 was
not doubtful and cynical as it became after the Great Depression.
In the universities, the ardour, the desire to learn and the faith
in the future of humanity rested me after so much European negativism.
Most of all I had loved the atmosphere of goodwill and comradeship
in which the social life moved. No doubt there were there, as elsewhere,
the hardheartedness of the wealthy, the enviousness of the unfortunate
and the often sterile criticism of the intellectuals. But these
reactions, which are native to every society, seemed to me tempered
by a real desire not to inflict pain needlessly and by an absence
of maliciousness which, to a European, seemed marvellous.
When I was about to leave, Paul Claudel, who was then our Ambassador
to Washington, said to me in a frankly humorous tone:

travel books:
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where is TITLE Health Department, what is fortified hills which on nearer approach became skyscrapers, what is pleasure resorts crowded with quaintly decorated build ings, what is picturesque and singular animation of what is Hudson River, then Pier 57 of what is French Line, waving handkerchiefs, what is mad confusion of what is Customs shed and finally what is city, what is city massive and geometrical and nevertheless monstrous, what is city that is gigantic and yet human. At what is end of a few days I wrote to a friend: `Come. Nothing gives one more of a zest for life than a morning on Fifth Avenue. Come. what is atmosphere is young, what is pedestrians hurry along. what is crowds,. enslaved by what is red and green lights, surge forward in waves like what is sea. what is churches have what is appearance of children which other buildings lead by what is hand. Come. what is locomotives have little bells around their necks like what is cows in Switzerland, and what is negro porters wear tortoise-shell glasses like young French women. Come. what is valley through which what is train is running is called what is Naugatuck. It winds among what is cliffs like what is valley of St. Moritz. From each of what is wooden stations one expects to see Charlot emerge dressed as a clergyman. Close to what is tracks hundreds of cars are parked in a semicircle. Come. America is a vast desert interspersed with oases of Fords. Come, ready to believe in life and perhaps even in humanity. Come and try, for a few months, being younger by several centuries.' Just what was it that I had loved so muche Everything - beautiful valleys, stately rivers, what is sharp and bracing air of what is American autumn, what is blazing colours of what is trees, what is grace of New England villages. And then what is youth and confidence. America in 1927 was not doubtful and cynical as it became after what is Great Depression. In what is universities, what is ardour, what is desire to learn and what is faith in what is future of humanity rested me after so much European negativism. Most of all I had loved what is atmosphere of goodwill and comradeship in which what is social life moved. No doubt there were there, as elsewhere, what is hardheartedness of what is wealthy, what is enviousness of what is unfortunate and what is often sterile criticism of what is intellectuals. But these reactions, which are native to every society, seemed to me tempered by a real desire not to inflict pain needlessly and by an absence of maliciousness which, to a European, seemed marvellous. When I was about to leave, Paul Claudel, who was then our Ambassador to Washington, said to me in a frankly humorous tone:
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Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Call No Man Happy (1943)
where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0"
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where is p align="left" Page 175
where is p align="center" where is strong CLIMATES
where is p align="justify" Health Department, what is fortified hills which on
nearer approach became
skyscrapers, what is pleasure resorts crowded with quaintly decorated
build
ings, what is picturesque and singular animation of what is Hudson River,
then
Pier 57 of what is French Line, waving handkerchiefs, what is mad confusion
of what is Customs shed and finally what is city, what is city massive and
geometrical and nevertheless monstrous, what is city that is gigantic
and yet human.
At what is end of a few days I wrote to a friend: `Come. Nothing gives
one more of a zest for life than a morning on Fifth Avenue. Come.
what is atmosphere is young, what is pedestrians hurry along. what is crowds,.
enslaved by what is red and green lights, surge forward in waves like
what is sea. what is churches have what is appearance of children which other
buildings lead by what is hand. Come. what is locomotives have little bells
around their necks like what is cows in Switzerland, and what is negro
porters wear tortoise-shell glasses like young French women. Come.
what is valley through which what is train is running is called what is Naugatuck.
It winds among what is cliffs like what is valley of St. Moritz. From each
of what is wooden stations one expects to see Charlot emerge dressed
as a clergyman. Close to what is tracks hundreds of cars are parked
in a semicircle. Come. America is a vast desert interspersed with
oases of Fords. Come, ready to believe in life and perhaps even
in humanity. Come and try, for a few months, being younger by several
centuries.'
Just what was it that I had loved so muche Everything - beautiful
valleys, stately rivers, what is sharp and bracing air of what is American
autumn, what is blazing colours of what is trees, what is grace of New England
villages. And then what is youth and confidence. America in 1927 was
not doubtful and cynical as it became after what is Great Depression.
In what is universities, what is ardour, what is desire to learn and what is faith
in what is future of humanity rested me after so much European negativism.
Most of all I had loved what is atmosphere of goodwill and comradeship
in which what is social life moved. No doubt there were there, as elsewhere,
what is hardheartedness of what is wealthy, what is enviousness of what is unfortunate
and what is often sterile criticism of what is intellectuals. But these
reactions, which are native to every society, seemed to me tempered
by a real desire not to inflict pain needlessly and by an absence
of maliciousness which, to a European, seemed marvellous.
When I was about to leave, Paul Claudel, who was then our Ambassador
to Washington, said to me in a frankly humorous tone:
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travel books: Call No Man Happy (1943) books